


The Sex Thing

by Miri1984



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, Relationship Negotiations, Sex Neutral Zolf, discussion of sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:55:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22483705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: Just two guys, negotiating their sexual preferences, in mature and adult ways because they're good like that.
Relationships: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 18
Kudos: 143





	The Sex Thing

“The disadvantage to having metal feet,” Oscar’s voice floated out past the paper doors of the reading room. “Is that I can always hear when you’re out there debating whether to come in.”

Zolf stopped pacing and stared at the wood and paper door in front of him, wishing for the ability to burn it to the ground.

“You don’t have to be rude about it.”

“Just come in and ask me what you want to ask me, Zolf,” Oscar said, exasperated, but with that edge of fondness to his tone that had been creeping ever more to the front in their conversations.

It was partly because of that that he had questions.

Well. He needed to be honest with himself about this. It was mostly because of that.

He took a deep breath and slid the door open, deliberately clomping his foot down on the floorboards as he stepped through to make as much noise as possible. Oscar was holding a book in one hand, loosely, open to about half way, his long legs crossed elegantly over each other. 

He closed the book and rested it on his knee, looking up at Zolf expectantly.

“Well?”

Zolf shut the door behind him. Turned back. Swallowed. 

“I…” he stopped. He’d practiced about six different ways of saying this but faced with Oscar, one eyebrow delicately raised in curiosity, blue eyes fixed on his face, a slight smile touching those full lips, his brain had gone completely blank.

“Would it help if I cast read minds?”

Zolf shuddered. “Please. Don’t.”

“Well then,” he waved towards one of the other chairs and Zolf clenched his teeth and sat.

“We need to talk about the sex thing,” he blurted.

Inside Zolf’s head, he started to scream at himself.

Oscar blinked. “Mmmm. I almost hesitate to ask, but what sex thing?”

“Your...your sex thing. I mean mine. I mean.” Zolf dragged his hands down his face in frustration. “Look, I know you’ve been flirting with me. And well… I guess I’ve been flirting… back?”

“Is _that_ what you’ve been doing?”

“Shut up.”

“Ah yes. It _is_ what you’ve been doing. Obviously.”

“So we talked a little bit about… the whole thing. Back when.”

“You told me in no uncertain terms that you were not interested in sex with me or with anyone else, and that while you understood my default personality was to engage in sexual innuendo with the same enthusiasm most people devote to fine food and wine, that any flirting on my part would not result in a physical consumation between the two of us.”

“I don’t think I put it like that…”

Oscar waved a hand. “You definitely used fewer words, but then you’ve never had the benefit of a publicist before.”

“Benefit?”

Oscar ignored him. “In response I said I only ever engage in sexual activity with people who wholeheartedly and unequivocally want it, and that any flirting on my part was simply a product of my own… oh… uh… how did you put it… I think you put it better than I did at the time… um…” Oscar tapped a finger against his lips, frowning slightly, and Zolf sighed.

“A product of your bloody minded desire to be as irritating as possible to all people, especially me, at all times.”

Wilde grinned that lopsided grin and snapped his fingers. “That was it!”

“Well… uh…” Zolf realised he had threaded his hands together and was wringing them. He shook them free and shoved them in his pockets. “So things might have…”

“I thought we’d established boundaries quite well, Zolf,” Oscar said, and some of the flippancy had receded. “But if I’ve overstepped somehow and made you uncomfortable I…”

“No. No that’s not it. Really. I mean. It’s just that it’s been a long time now and I know you better and I think that the flirting might… not be… just… a thing you do to piss me off. Any more.”

Oscar uncrossed his legs and sat forward a little, setting a side the book and clasping his hands between his knees.

“And if it isn’t?” he asked, softly. “Would that be a problem?”

“Well I’m not… averse to it. As much. Any more.”

“I see.”

“I kind of like it, a bit. Actually.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“But I’m worried that we might not be… uh… compatible.”

“Because you don’t want to have sex with me.”

“Uh. Yeah. That. But I mean. It’s not that… I wouldn’t exactly… I mean... I’ve done it before and… it’s nice sometimes but… and I’m not, I mean, you’d be… Look. It’s pretty obvious you look at sex completely differently from how I do.”

“I would concede that point, yes.”

“You’ve slept with a lot of people.”

“I have.”

“I mean. You slept with _Bertie.”_

Oscar positively beamed. “I _did!”_

“You… uh… didn’t do that because you were madly in love with him though, right?”

Oscar laughed. “Heavens no. Bertie had many desirable attributes but long term living with the man would have been intolerable.”

“But you enjoyed it.”

“Most certainly. But I’m getting the impression you don’t want any explicit details about exactly what went on between myself and Sir Bertrand…”

“Gods no, please.”

Oscar laughed again. “Zolf I am well aware that sex for most people is complicated and I would even concede that my own relationship with it isn’t exactly straight forward. It doesn’t mean that you and I are incompatible.”

“But if we were together then…”

“Then?”

“You wouldn’t get as much… uh…”

“And how much… uh do you consider I might be getting right now, Zolf?” Oscar said, indicating the inn, the village, the whole situation. 

Zolf couldn’t help it, he smiled. “Not a whole lot.”

“No. And I have not been reduced to a gibbering slavering wreck of a man. At least not because of that.” Oscar stood and moved to Zolf’s chair, hunkering down so they were almost face to face. 

He hesitated a moment before reaching out with one hand and placing it over Zolf’s. Zolf turned his hand palm up and curled his fingers around Oscar’s, interested at how warm and soft the skin was. Oscar did not use a sword or a glaive. Had never had cause to wear armor or work in the fields. His hands were the hands of a scholar, a bard. They felt delicate under the rough callouses and tattooed knuckles of his own hand,although he could feel the strength in them.

Zolf wasn’t a man of many words at the best of times and right now he was firmly of the opinion that anything else he could say would spoil this moment. The feel of Oscar’s hand in his, the steady, earnest warmth of his regard… they should have made him squirm, should have made him want to pull away. But they didn’t. He felt anchored, suddenly, like a boat in dock in a storm. Tethered.

“I am aware that as a man, and as a colleague, I am somewhat difficult to take seriously, Zolf,” Oscar murmured, and used his other hand to trace a pattern over the tattoos on Zolf’s forearm. 

“I’ve always taken you seriously,” Zolf said. “To be honest that’s been a lot of the problem.”

Oscar looked up at him, eyes heavy lidded and languid in the lamplight. He kept eye contact with Zolf as he leaned forward and delicately, softly, giving Zolf all the time in the world to pull back, pressed his lips to Zolf’s wrist.

Zolf felt his breath catch in his throat. He swallowed. 

“That wasn’t too much?” Zolf shook his head, and Oscar tilted his, then shifted forward even further, until his face was inches from Zolf’s. “This?” he asked, even softer this time, brushing his lips to Zolf’s cheek. Zolf’s eyes slid closed and he shivered, feeling the warmth of Oscar’s breath on his skin.

“No,” he said.

“Or this?” this time Zolf couldn’t answer because his mouth was otherwise occupied and his brain had flatlined and his hand was tangled in Oscar’s hair before he’d even realised he’d moved it and he’d shifted forward in his chair until he was pressed against Oscar, mouth open, kissing him hungrily, thoroughly. When they parted Oscar didn’t pull away, and Zolf kept his hand at the back of Oscar’s head, fingers gently carding through the soft curls there. Oscar hummed and leaned into the touch, like a contented cat, eyes closed and lips curved in a satisfied smile. Zolf almost expected him to start purring. Zolf saw him take a deep breath through his nose, then he opened his eyes as he let it out in a soft sigh.

“Still not too much?” he asked. Zolf shook his head, mutely, and Oscar’s smile deepened. “Good,” he said, and reached up to brush a thumb over Zolf’s lips, “because that is more than enough for me, from you.”

“Don’t want to do it again then?” Zolf said, still slightly breathless, a smile tugging his mouth.

Oscar let out a bark of laughter, then kissed the tip of Zolf’s nose. 

“There are so many more complex things in this world than affection, Zolf. I have been reckless in my pursuit of pleasure in the past, but that doesn’t mean I can’t take a different approach when it’s warranted.”

“I appreciate that,” Zolf said, stroking down the back of Oscar’s neck, not willing quite yet to break contact and delighted at how responsive he was to Zolf’s fingers. It wasn’t surprising, that he’d react so well to touch, but it was gratifying, and Zolf wanted to do it more.

Oscar took another deep breath, then caught Zolf’s wandering hand and pressed his lips to it. “Well. Now that we’ve stopped dancing around that, we do have an apocalypse to reverse.” Over the top of his fingers, Zolf could see that the light of mischief in Oscar’s eyes had darkened somewhat. He squeezed Oscar’s hand, nodded, and stood. Oscar remained crouched for a second, looking up at Zolf, that sad smile still on his lips. 

He leaned forward and kissed Oscar again, smiling at the small sound of surprise that slipped from him as he did, smiling more as Oscar’s free arm snaked around his waist and pulled him closer.

Perhaps it wasn’t something out of the pages of a Harrison Campbell novel, this thing they’d negotiated, but it was enough.

More than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> I had intended my 100th fic to be positively filthy, but instead it's just positive :D.


End file.
